Floods and Draughts
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Their moments of peace are rare, but welcomed; Janos Audron/Vorador


**Title**: Floods and Draughts

**Pairing**: Janos Audron / Vorador

**Rating**: PG-12 for violence and mild yaoi

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Vorador folded his arms underneath his head as he gazed up at Janos who seemed to be enjoying himself quite thoroughly as he rode the warm air currents, seeming to almost be lying in the sky as he glided about, lazily flapping his wings once every so often to keep himself airborne. Vorador could hear low humming, didn't recognise the tune very well, but judging by the ease with which Janos murmured away, the ancient had probably consigned it to memory long ago.

He smirked. Perhaps swimming through air would be a more accurate description of Janos' current flying style. Janos flipped over with a slow, luxurious movement, taking time to enjoy the feel of his hair as it shifted in the wind, and Vorador mused that he wished he had been able to see scenes like this more often. To see Janos momentarily free from worry and duty. On a shallower level, he also wished the ancients hadn't had the foresight to wear pants as part of their traditional costume, as flying would have been even more interesting then.

He wondered what Janos' hair used to look like in the wind when he flew. As a human, Vorador had never seen Janos flying, and as a result never got to see how his longer hair appeared in the wind. Whether he would look more demonic or angelic, Vorador couldn't be certain. Heh. Maybe an airborne mermaid.

Of course, the incident had followed, and Janos had cut his hair short as part of his expression of disgust with the old ways. Vorador never did ask Janos what the details were; when Janos hammered on the young blacksmith's door and ran in, hair short and matted with sweat, Vorador had been somewhat more concerned with boarding up the windows to protect himself and his two customers against the insanity going on around them.

The Hylden had been wiped clean from the world, and with it, the vampires lost their innocent curiosity about mortals. Vorador's customers weren't very happy with having one of the bedraggled vampires trapped in with them, but Janos had helped guard them against the onslaught.

The morning after, Vorador had been the one to protect Janos, holding back his vampire friend from running through the streets to see even more of the carnage in the area, and allowing him to scream his agony rather than opt for... what some of the others had done.

Vampires tended to use spears and pikes as their weapons of choice. It had not been a pretty sight to see clumsy suicides scattered about the town.

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Vorador shuddered and looked back up at Janos, serene in the pale moonlight. To look at him, one simply couldn't guess what levels of pain he had endured. Janos seemed to have a gift beyond measure for recovery; his healing powers were phenomenal, and he managed to endure agony after agony with no visible lasting damage. The occasional line still added itself to his face from time to time, but it was nothing worthy of recording. Janos absorbed and dealt with his pain like a river took a lashing of rainfall without much notice. Granted, the occasional flood threatened, but that was all.

By comparison, Vorador felt like a thunderstorm. Not made to last. Starting slowly and building up to a violent crescendo with every added drop of injury.

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The pale green vampire smiled as Janos finally flipped upright and spread out his wings, easing his way down in a slow descent before landing near soundlessly on the floor nearby. A talent that the made vampires had inherited, though without the need for wings, Vorador noted. The note blew away quickly though, like so many sheets of paper, as Janos turned to him and smiled, the lights of the aerie catching his face, ghostly purple from one angle and warm gold from another. Vorador knew he would never understand the human mind that preferred a pure white angel to this... shimmering creation.

He got up carefully, taking Janos' hand for assistance when it was offered, and smirked as he shook a few creases out of his robes once he was standing. "Well. One of us has had their share of fun tonight, haven't they?"

Janos smiled, putting a slightly possessive arm around Vorador's waist. "Ah, but you'll be having yours soon."

"Stop pretending you don't enjoy it," Vorador replied before nuzzling Janos' neck, breathing in his scent. Perhaps it was just the result of centuries of living in the mountains, but Janos smelt like stone and ice, the undercurrent of blood and knowledge throbbing hot beneath it like a pulse. "Mmm. Balcony or bedroom?"

"I do believe the Sarafan are out tonight," Janos mused in a slightly less than innocent tone as he stroked a hand idly through fine silvery hairs, hair that had taken in Vorador's death and refused to cling to dead pores. Odd then, that the hairs on his chin had remained.

"A challenge, then?"

Janos interrupted his brain's idle wanderings to smile and laugh, before shaking his head. "No, not tonight." He tilted Vorador's head back, looking at the thin lips and licking his own in anticipation. "I'm afraid I feel thirsty, and we must not frighten them."

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Vorador pondered where the 'we' came from, though his brain later reminded him he probably ought to be more intrigued by the declaration that blood-drinking was more frightening to mortals than looking at two creatures of questionable morality and origin mid-coitus. "Shall we adjourn then, sire?"

"I would suggest it, if you would prefer a sight other than the stars to keep that gaze of yours for the next few hours."

Vorador laughed before easing out of Janos' embrace to walk indoors at his sire's side, and pondered what strange veil it was that kept Janos from seeing the simple truth that Vorador hadn't spent more than a moment that evening regarding the stars. It was as though Janos saw some of the world through water; clear and whole, but slightly distorted.

Vorador opened the bedroom door with a somewhat exaggerated bow, before succumbing to the kiss his sire requested with half-open lips.

This rainstorm could never promise stability, but he would keep his river from drying out.

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The End


End file.
